


Chemically Altered

by ros3bud009



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Fluff, Hand Touching, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 07:30:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10635165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: “It’s been three hours. I think it’s safe to assume that I will remain unaffected, so I should be able to return to my tasks--”“Nope,” Ratchet interrupted, not so much as glancing up from where he was fiddling with the energon processor. It had been slow lately, which made him wonder if some half-processed bits were gunking up system. “If Wheeljack was willing to admit to me that the energon you drank had dross mixed in and that I should be concerned about how much, then I am most definitely keeping an optic on you.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just some silly fun I wrote when I myself was under the influence and wanted to write about robots high on space weed. I decided to go with calling is Dross, so when you see dross, just know that's space weed.

                “It’s been three hours. I think it’s safe to assume that I will remain unaffected, so I should be able to return to my tasks--”

                “Nope,” Ratchet interrupted, not so much as glancing up from where he was fiddling with the energon processor. It had been slow lately, which made him wonder if some half-processed bits were gunking up system. “If Wheeljack was willing to admit to me that the energon you drank had dross mixed in and that I should be concerned about how much, then I am most definitely keeping an optic on you.”

                Nevertheless, Optimus’s large frame could be heard shifting on the medical berth. Ratchet cycled a heavy ventilation as he turned to face the Prime. “I’m serious, Optimus. You know I hate talking about it, but I do have some first-hand knowledge on this topic,” Ratchet said, frowning deeply as he recalled long, _long_ ago academy days. “You’re going to sit here until the symptoms have run their course.”

                “I do not doubt you, old friend. However--”

                Whatever was meant to come after that was lost when Optimus got to his pedes, and then for a brief moment one of his knees buckled. It was barely a twitch to the untrained optic before he had his balance again, but Ratchet knew impaired motor systems when he saw them.

                And one look at Optimus’s face told the medic that he was certainly feeling something now, though the way his optic ridges furrowed made it clear he wasn’t pleased by it.

                “Perhaps you’re correct.”

* * *

 

                “Are you sure this isn’t life threatening?”

                Ratchet rolled his optics up to the ceiling as he closed his scanner. He wouldn’t have even bothered with doing a scan if that hadn’t been the third time his Prime had asked that very question. “Yes, Optimus, I’m quite sure. Your scans are clean, just like I told you they would be.”

                Optimus’s optics narrowed, nearly looking petulant, and that was almost enough to wipe away any bad mood Ratchet had. It didn’t help that they Prime was laid out on the berth, practically lounging most of the time until he noticed, and then tried to move into another position, as if the new one might be more dignified.

                “That can’t be right. My frame feels…”

                He trailed off, one hand making an aborted meaningless gesture.

                “Heavy? Sluggish? Tingly?”

                “Yes.”

                Ratchet patted Optimus on the shoulder reassuringly.

                “You’re not dying, Optimus. You’re just high.”

* * *

 

                “Ratchet?”

                The medic just hummed inquisitively, loud enough for Optimus to hear him. Cleaning the energon processor had become a tedious task of just taking it apart piece by piece to soak and scrub. While he was still mad enough at Wheeljack that he could strangle the wrecker, he had to admit there was a certain charm in having Optimus in his med bay to chat with while he worked. He had even moved the soaking bucket and a stool over to the berth so that he was right next to the Prime, making conversation easier and a little bit more private.

                Though, truthfully, Optimus was getting to the point where he was nearly rambling, his thoughts a bit disjointed. Ratchet could still piece them together though with relative ease. He had plenty of experience with drugged patients.

                Optimus helm tilted to the side so he was looking over at Ratchet. His expression was completely serious as his hand settled on his chest.

                “Either I’m one with the Matrix right now, or else I’m _extremely_ chemically altered.”

                A startled laugh burst out of Ratchet, his servos dropping the metal he was working with to hide his face in, trying to muffle the sound. Worst still, the berth started to shake as a warm, rumbling chuckle escaped Optimus, only growing in volume when it sent Ratchet spiraling into further hysterics.

                Ratchet’s ventilation system ached by the time they finally managed to pull themselves together. It was nearly a wheeze when he said, “ _Primus,_ Optimus. Please tell me that communing with the matrix isn’t comparable to being high.”

Optimus’s optics were half-lidded and full of mirth

                 “Truthfully, Primus has never been this much fun.”

                Ratchet could feel his engine stall as he crumpled with laugher and Optimus joined him.

* * *

 

                “How long has it been?”

                “You’re not going to like the answer to that.”

                There was a pause as Optimus was no doubt checking his chronometer, though it took him a while. Finally though, he quietly groaned and all but dropped his servo onto his face.

                “Please tell me this drug affects my chronometer.”

                “No.”

                “So it’s truly only been fifty-six minutes.”

                “Yes.”

                “Wouldn’t it be easier for us both if you simply put me into stasis?”

                “And miss this entertainment?” Ratchet teased.

                Optimus frowned, though there was no real malice behind it. “You’re a cruel mech, Ratchet.”

                “Like you didn’t already know.”

                There was a non-committal hum in response. Ratchet didn’t feel the need to keep the conversation going, especially now that all of the machine pieces were scrubbed clean. Now he would simply have to lay them out and dry them off—

                Optimus’s servo bumped against his forearm before making a second attempt to successfully grab and squeeze it affectionately.

                “I’m glad you’re still with me, old friend.”

                Ratchet’s spark swelled, even as he huffed dismissively.

                “I wouldn’t leave you when you’re in such a pitiful state,” he said, still in that same teasing voice. But Optimus didn’t follow, his optic ridges knitting together.

                “No, not that. I mean here, on Earth. All we’ve done, and here you still are,” he said, words so slightly slurred but the meaning crystal clear. “My dear Ratchet. You’re still--”

                “Alright, yes, I know,” Ratchet interrupted, trying to ignore how his face heated. Nevertheless, he placed his servo on Optimus’s, and didn’t pull it away when the Prime intertwined their fingers as best he could at their angle. Those optics were watching him, hazy with intoxication but focused with intension. Ratchet stared at the sudsy bucket of water and machine parts. “I’ve told you before. I have no intentions of being anywhere else then at your side.”

                 Optimus’s fingers squeezed around Ratchet’s.

                “You’re incredible.”

                Ratchet’s fingers twitched before, ultimately, squeezing back.

                “And _you’re_ high.”

                He still refused to look at the Prime.

                “Perhaps. Can I admit something to you?”

                “As if I have the ability to stop you.”

                Optimus’s thumb lightly rubbed lazy circles against the side of Ratchet’s.

                “I enjoy flustering you.”

                Ratchet blinked before snapping his helm over to stare at Optimus. The Prime had the audacity to be grinning, lazy but mischievous.

                “You—you--!” Ratchet struggled to find the right words, spark racing as he tugged his servo out of Optimus’s grip. “I have better things to do than put up with your scrap!”

                Optimus was trying to hide his snickers, but there was no hiding that rumbling or the way it warmed Ratchet from the inside out. Still, the medic got to his pedes and picked up the wash bucket. “You have fun while some of us get our work done.”

                He had barely made it a few steps though before he heard Optimus moving behind him, saying, “Wait, Ratchet--”

                And then the clang of a Prime-sized frame tumbling to the floor.

                “Slaggit, Optimus!” Ratchet snapped, turning to see that yes, the Prime had tried to get out of bed in a hurry and fallen to the ground. The medic was back and kneeling beside him in a flash. “Are you alright?”

                Optimus’s frame shook.

                And then Ratchet heard the chuckles start up again.

                He smacked Optimus’s shoulder – “You idiot!” – and the Prime was able to sit up, his laugh so sweet and his smile was so genuine – “I’m sorry, that was truly an accident, a happy accident” – that Ratchet couldn’t help being drawn in.

                Optimus’s engine purred and his arms were solid around Ratchet’s frame as he hugged the medic.

                He was kind enough, even in his intoxication, to not point out that Ratchet was hugging him back. Or that he stayed for several long minutes before finally mentioning that they should get Optimus back up on the bed.

                Or that it was several more minutes before they actually moved.

                And if Wheeljack never received anything more than a couple strong words for the accident, no one questioned it.


End file.
